Of Macaroons and Raging Fathers
by Sarahbob
Summary: Enjolras and Combeferre have known each other for a couple of weeks. Combeferre decides he wants to learn more about Enjolras personally and they play a question game. It's during that game that the bespectacled student learns Enjolras' biggest regret, biggest secret and greatest guilt.


_(Hello! I've got a little one-shot here about Combeferre and Enjolras getting to know each other a little better. Enjolras is sixteen in here and Combeferre is eighteen years old. It also includes a headcanon that I've used in my other story 'Shifting Grounds'. Hope you like it!)_

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Combeferre nods and offers his new friend a smile. It's been only a couple of weeks, but he can already feel the two of them will be friends for life. He feels a certain connection, which he can't really describe, but it's strong and powerful and Combeferre knows his new friend feels the same way.

"So, Enjolras," he says after a few moments of silence. He and Enjolras know each others first names, but Combeferre already figured out that Enjolras feels more comfortable being called by his last name, his first name makes him feel vulnerable. "We've got to know each other very well intellectually. I know your ideals, I know how you'd like to see the future and you know mine. Would you care to get to know each other on a more personal level as well?"

Enjolras is quiet for a moment, but he's smiling. "I'm not quite sure there is much difference between those levels as far as my life is concerned," the blonde man said finally. "But by all means, if you have any questions, fire away."

Combeferre smiles back and pours himself and Enjolras a cup of coffee. Then he sits back in his chair and watches the blonde man in front of him. He might say there is not much difference between his personal life and that with which he presents himself, but Combeferre isn't oblivious and he knows there's a lot more behind the marble mask than his friend would let on. "Well, I already know you're sixteen years old, you grew up on the countryside and you're an only child. But there is much that I don't know. If, for example, you have a woman waiting for you back at your parents home or how come you got into University at sixteen instead of the usual seventeen or how come you need a roommate when your father is obviously rich enough to buy you your own apartment?"

Enjolras raises an eyebrow at Combeferre and lightly presses his lips together.

Combeferre smiles, knowing those are questions that will not yet be answered. "Or maybe something more commonplace, like what's your favorite color, what do you prefer to eat or drink, what do you like to do in your spare time... If you even allow yourself spare time?"

This time, Enjolras smiles back and he shakes his head. "Alright, if you must ask such banal questions, I will answer them for you. My favorite color is burgundy, always has been. When I was a child I had this favorite burgundy jacket and I never wanted to take it off, not even when I tripped over my own feet once and fell face down into the mud. I don't really care that much for food, but if I must choose something, I'd go for something sweet. I've always liked macaroons and I like they come in different colors. And yes, I do allow myself spare time on some occasions in which I like to take a walk around Parc du Luxembourg and enjoy the sun. When I was little, I liked to play the piano," Enjolras finishes and he takes a sip of coffee. "What about you? Same questions."

Combeferre grins. He's glad he has started this conversation, already liking the way Enjolras starts to open up to him. "I could easily picture you as a child refusing to take your coat off. That must've been quite the task for your poor mother."

Enjolras puts on a very serious face and nods. "Oh yes. In the end she threw me in the bathtub still fully dressed. Your turn."

Combeferre chuckles, shaking his head at the image. "Alright, alright. My turn. My favorite color is blue, especially the blue of the sky. I believe it's peaceful and it gives me rest. I never had a skyblue jacket when I was little and that still hurts me to this day. I am a big fan of my mother's rice dish with sugar and cinnamon. But it's not really that well known here in Paris, so if I'd had to choose a favorite food for here, I'd go with plain baguette and some luxury cheese. And grapes. I like grapes. And, lets see... In my spare time I like to read a novel, watch a play or listen to some music. I, too, adore my strolls down Parc du Luxembourg. We should go together sometime."

"We should," Enjolras agrees, shifting a little in his chair. "It's a wonderful, calm place. So different from the usual chaos in the rest of Paris."

Combeferre nods and leans forwards in his chair. He's not done with his conversation yet. There is so much more he'd like to know about his mysterious, young friend. "Favorite novel?" he asks and Enjolras grins, feeling comfortable enough to keep playing this game.

"_L'Ingénu_, by Voltaire," Enjolras answers resolutely, "You?"

"_Robinson Crusoé_, by Daniel Defoe," Combeferre answers and he smirks at the surprised look Enjolras gives him. "Yes, my favorite book is written by an Englishman. Childhood fear?"

"Thunder," Enjolras says calmly, "I always believed the clouds were angry with each other and I feared that they would some day take their anger out on us humans."

"That's actually cute," Combeferre replies and he chuckles at the scowl his friend gives him. "Mine was pretty cliché. Monster under my bed, monster in the closet. That sort of thing. One time, my brother covered himself in mud and hid under my bed. When he came out, he gave me such a fright, I believe I slept with my parents for a week after that."

This makes Enjolras laugh out loud, a sound that's angelic to Combeferre's ears and he can't suppress his own smile.

"Biggest regret?" Combeferre asks after a few moments. When Enjolras remains quiet, the bespectacled student looks up and frowns. His friend's whole demeanor has changed and he seems drawn. Combeferre fears he has said something wrong and he places a gentle hand on his friend's knee. "I'm sorry if I crossed a line. You do not have to tell me if you don't want me to know."

Enjolras looks up at him and lets out a deep sigh. Then he smiles and shakes his head. "You didn't cross any line, Combeferre," he answers quietly, taking another few sips of his coffee. "My biggest regret is allowing myself to step away from my beliefs out of fear for my father's rage."

This takes Combeferre aback and he gives his friend a surprised look. It's clear that Enjolras feels uncomfortable talking about it, that it's an unpleasant subject, but before Combeferre can tell the young man that all is fine and that he doesn't have to elaborate, Enjolras continues.

"When I was seven years old, my mother and father gave me my first bit of pocket money. You can understand I was really excited. I could finally buy stuff of my own... Macaroons for example," Enjolras gives a tiny chuckle. "Anyway... I was walking with my parents through the town one day and I saw this elder woman on the street with her infant child. They looked like they hadn't eaten in days, so without really thinking about it, I dropped my pocket money in her hand and wished her a pleasant day. It never occured to me that it would set my father off the way that it did. He turned very silent and didn't speak to me until we got back to our house. Once there, he completely lost his composure. He started yelling at me and he cursed me. Compared me with all foul beings walking the earth. How did I dare give his money away like that? How could I be so ungrateful? Hadn't I learned anything from him? How could I be so stupid? And I honestly didn't understand what I did wrong... I only tried to help, you know. When I told him that... Well, let's just say I couldn't leave the house for at least a week. Nor was I allowed to...Not until the bruises had healed."

Combeferre was gaping at him in absolute shock. He could not believe it. Nor could he believe that Enjolras could speak of this outrage with so little emotion. So distant and cold. Surely he knew that this was in no way his fault? Combeferre swallows and clears his throat. "He abused you because you talked back to him? That's your regret? You had every right to talk back to him! You didn't do anything wrong.."

"No that's not my regret," Enjolras interupts him quietly. "You see... I was terrified of my father after that. He hurt me in a way that I'd never thought him capable of. He got so angry with me that I started to doubt my own belief in the matter. I wondered if maybe I had done something despicable and that - no matter my good intentions - it wasn't right to give away your money for free. So from then on... for years on end... I ignored those in need. I had enough money to feed a dozen of them, but I didn't. I just looked to the ground and walked on. Too terrified of my father's rage to do anything else and to shaken up to determine what was right and what was wrong. I wouldn't dare to cross Father again after he had gotten so violent. Of course... as I got older I knew he was wrong and I knew I had been right in my actions. But I was still afraid to really do something about it... I dropped a couple of coins as I walked by the poor, but I didn't dare to actually give it to them... Not until I moved to Paris with my uncle two years ago... So there you have it. It's my biggest regret, my biggest secret and my greatest guilt all in one. And I have no idea why I told you this..."

Combeferre gives his friend a sad look. It was a horrible story and Combeferre can't begin to imagine the pain and confusion the young Enjolras must have been in. However he does understand how and why Enjolras has grown up the passionate and driven young man he is now. Determined to right his wrongs. To make up for all these years of guilt. Combeferre wishes he was able to make his friend see that he had done nothing wrong and that he wasn't to blame, but he knows that is probably something that he can never heal his friend from. He suddenly realizes his hand is still resting on Enjolras' knee and before he figures out if it is appropriate or not, he squeezes it gently. "You told me this, because I am your friend and you trust me."

Enjolras lets out a deep breath and smiles. "I guess so," he mumbles. Then he drops his gaze and scratches the back of his head. "Do you mind if we stop this game now... I uh... I think I've shared enough personal things for today."

Combeferre winces internally and nods. He really hopes he hasn't made Enjolras feel uncomfortable around him.

"I'm not really in the mood for studying either," Enjolras continues soflty, "I don't know about you, but if you agree, we could take that stroll through the park now. I could use a bit of fresh air and I'd like for you to accompany me if you want."

"I would love to," Combeferre says kindly, his face breaking out in a smile. "We could buy something to eat on our way and have our lunch in the park."

"Like a picknick," Enjolras grins as he stands from his chair and crosses the room to put on his jacket.

Combeferre smiles and follows him. "Exactly. We'll bring bread and cheese and macaroons."

That elicits another bright smile from the younger blonde and Combeferre feels his heart swell. As they walk towards the nearest baker, he places a hestitant hand on Enjolras' back. "Thank you for telling me that story, Julien," he says quietly, using Enjolras' first name on purpose.

When Enjolras looks up at him, eyes warm and kind, Combeferre is certain. They are going to be friends for life.

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_(I hope you liked this one-shot. Please let me know? Reviews mean the world to me!)_


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